Last week I found out my father is dead. He didn’t die last week or even last month. He’s been dead for quite some time. March 30th of this year, to be exact. I found out because my mother has been having some abnormal reoccurring dreams. All of her dreams are fundamentally the same. She’s having trouble finding him, she’s afraid something is wrong, when she finds him something has happened with his heart and he’s dead. She felt like someone was trying to tell her something. So she Googled Robert Henry Butler to see what would pop up. She found his obituary.

Here’s a copy of his obituary which hints at why I didn’t know until now that he is dead until now.

My mother was pissed when she read it. I was less surprised. She was pissed because, if you notice, I am not mentioned in the obituary as a survivor. I knew this is how it would be. My father and I were estranged. Those of you who know me know the story of my past and more importantly the story of my past with my father. So I won’t speak ill of the dead.

I will give a brief history of our estrangement. Our relationship came to an abrupt pause during my 16th year when I wrote a letter. A letter that my counselor, at the time, was very impressed with (good for her). It stated that I was terminating our relationship for my own reasons spawned from our own nasty history. I sent it certified mail so I knew he had received it. Some of the fall-out from that included his mother (my grandmother of whom I’m her namesake) called me to tell me I was a bitch and my father’s unexpected arrival and then removal from my high school. A few years later I, being in college with a child of my own, decided to reinstate contact at about the age of 22. That turned into a few choice letters, phone calls, and then my father ambushing me at a class. I could tell he was anxious to see me. I went to see him a couple of times. I brought my son to one such meeting at his home. As soon as we (my father, my son, and I) were the only ones left in the room he proceeded to confront me about how none of what had happened was true. He couldn’t let it go of the lies. So for the good of my own sanity and my son’s that was it. I didn’t contact him anymore and I ignored his contacts. I received a letter a few months later stating that he hoped I was happy with myself and I would be written out of his will and I would not know when he died. I left it at that.

So there it is. I’m not surprised. I’m not sad, either. I don’t really know what I am. I feel like an ugly part of my life has closure. But to me it seems so cold. He was my father and I will remember the good times and the bad and I will give a fitting farewell to the man who is at the origin of most of my fears.

So here are pictures of him during the “good times” when he was young and his life was before him. Before getting kicked out of the military, before jail, before my mother and myself. Just… before.

The left picture was taken in August 1946. My guess is he’s the one all the way at the top. He would have been 5 in this picture. The right picture was taken at some point during his days in military school atMassanutten Military Academy. It’s during his high school years, anyway. There is no date listed.

Last week Abby started tap/ballet class. I enrolled her in Tiny Toes. It’s a dance school for kids ages 18 months to 5 years. She was so exited to go. Abby is one of those kids that is always dancing. As soon as the music comes on she is moving. She was so exited. She’s been telling everyone all week that she’s going to dance class.
What I really like about it is the layed back nature of the class. What it’s really about is having a great time dancing. Sure, the instructor uses real dance terminology but she understands how to make it fun for the kids to learn. She also understands the age groups that she’s working with. As you see in the video, Abby frequently gets distracted and runs off. The instructor goes with the flow.
If you have a little person who loves to dance and you live in the Northern Virginia area I highly recommend Tiny Toes!
Above are photos of dress up time and Abby getting ready for class to start on her first day.